


Shopping High

by indigo_illusion



Series: A Vampire Novel and a Positive Attitude (or The Exceptional Crook & Cow Girl Wench) [2]
Category: Haven (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Hidden crush, POV First Person, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 08:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15904605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_illusion/pseuds/indigo_illusion
Summary: Teenage Julia volunteers to help Teenage Duke on a supply run into "Haven Central" a little while after he has won the /Cape Rouge/.Duke is led to some realizations about himself and his actions after a couple of confrontations along the way and inadvertently and, to him, surprisingly gains Julia's help with that situation as well.





	Shopping High

The needle is sliding in to my vein when I hear Julia outside calling to ask to board.

“Not yet!” I push the liquid down, feeling the cold and then warm as it spreads down my arm. I clean everything up and hide it away, and then pull myself to my feet, brief dizziness and nausea but then it's all fine.

I'm cutting things down, weaning myself off, right? Right.

I pick up a roll of cash from inside the half finished kitchen drawer before walking out onto the deck.

I shade my eyes against the light and look down at her.

“Permission to come aboard, Boss?” she asks.

“Hmm? Oh, right...well, I was...I have shopping I need to do,” I can't help but sort of spit the rest out, “in town.”

“ _You're_ going into _town_?” She says, “Why?” 

“I need groceries. Town has groceries.” I make my way down to the dock with an empty crate to carry things home in and find myself slightly unsteady but things are smoothing over, nicely. So, what if the townies can be all Crocker is evil? I'm sure it'll be fine. Not like people haven't hated on me before.

“Really?” she says, sounding unexpectedly excited.

“Yes. Really...why?”

“No, that's good. Do you need help?”

“No,” I wave a hand at her, “It's fine...there's plenty to do on the _Cape_ still.” I wave a hand back towards the boat now, turning slightly  woo spinny, “there's sanding the...the cabinets, and putting the shelves in. Outside work needs to wait. Needs two of us.” 

“You could need help carrying things back,” she says, tugging at the other side of the crate.

“It's fine.”

“It's empty right now,” she says, “You don't need to break anything. Then I'll have to do all the work by myself, and you'll have to pay me more. Really, I'm looking out for _your_ wallet.”

Cute company is good, anyway, right? And what's the worst can happen? People know she works with me on the boat already and we're not  _actually_ doing anything because I'm not about to get lynched, and carrying things will be easier and then I'm not talking to myself. Let's not dampen this warm feeling by being an ass and making her disappointed.  Maybe it’s the mellow that’s making me think it’s okay, but what the hell?

“Sure, why not?”

“Awesome,” she says, grabbing the other side of the crate and giving it a slight tug, “Let's get on.”

For a while we walk side by side but once we get further into town she leads and I follow behind which is fine for the view. Every once in a while I realize she's pulling at the crate to get me to speed up when I hadn't noticed I'd slowed down but then everything is still a bit shiny as well as the cozy is settling in.

We chat a bit about paint colors and the outside work and the weather and how it might affect things, and conversation turns to school which is mostly just her grumbling about bitches and idiots, and a few teachers I vaguely remember.

“How did you get through school?” she asks.

“I mostly wasn't there,” I point out, “Don't advise it as the way to go about it.”

She laughs, “Seems like it must have been a lot more fun.”

“I had fun at school too,” I tell her.

“Oh? How?”

“Ah...well, you know you make fun when you can,” walked myself into that one...stupid mouth brain. Thinking about sexy times in closets and bathrooms might not be the way to go.

“No,” she said, “That sounded like there were details.”

I pinch my nose, what's.., “Well, I had a good business selling booze, if that counts...”

“Oh, so that one was _true_ ,” she says. 

Probably shouldn't ask what else is going around by now. Probably have a prostitution ring.

“Yeah, that one is true...do I want to know what else they say about the terrible Crocker boy?”

She laughs and the chimes of it sparkle around my ears, “I'm sure you already know them all.”

“I've been away,” I point out, “That gives things plenty of time to...” that car is probably not changing colors.

“Duke?”

I turn back to her. What was I...right, “Plenty of time to mutate, especially at a school.”

“You just want to know how infamous you are,” she says.

“Perhaps.”

She lets go of her side of the crate so unexpectedly that it thunks to the ground and leaps over to punch me in the arm.

“What the Hell, Wench?” I demand. Crate now fully on the ground so I can rub my arm for effect, “How is that fair?”

“Who said anything about fair?” She picks her side of the crate back up again, “Times a-wasting, come on. Come on, Boss.” She rocks the crate from side to side, when I don't pick it up right away. My arm might be fine but looking down did my head for a moment, “Did—did I _actually_ hurt you?” 

“No,” I pick up the crate, “I'm fine.”

“Did you eat this morning?” she asks, “You've been kinda...” she wiggles her free hand sending trails out in front of her, “...here and there.”

Did I...?

“You have to think about it that long the answer is no,” she points out, “You need to eat.”

“We're on the way to the store, aren't we?”

“Yes, Mr. Snippy.”

“Right. Sorry.”

I take the crate entirely as we cross the street and we go back to dual as we round the corner and come to the parking lot of the store. Julia goes ahead a few paces and pulls a shopping cart out of one of the gathering spots and brings it over. I stash the crate on the bottom of it and she wheels the thing inside the store. When we first go inside I can't see: everything is reflecting so much colors and the stale smell of bleach assaults me. I lean against the cart for a moment.

“Maybe we should get you a granola bar or something...” Julia says.

“I'll be fine until we get done. Won't take too long.”

She gives me a look, twisting her mouth around, “Fine.”

“I said I'm fine.”

“Alright.” She snaps and then waves her hands in a dismissive motion, color radiating around her from the florescents.

We start down the first aisle closest to the doors it's mostly newspapers and greeting cards which Julia scoots by pretty quickly going toward the back of the store where I can see a wall of fridges full of bottles.

“So,” she says, “What are we getting?”

I can't resist saying, “Food.”

“No,” she says, “Really? I thought we were here for tires.”

“Duke?” a guy's voice from behind us, “Duke Crocker?”

This could be good or bad, mostly, probably bad.

“Why don't you go grab veggies and bread and stuff?” I tell Julia, “I'll see what this is.”

“And fruit,” she says.

“Sure. Fine. Just...” I make a shooing motion and turn around to find where the voice came from. 

Jeans, t-shirt, tall, brown hair...not helping in the least. Tense, slightly aggressive posture. Looks aggravated. Still not helping, “Duke?” he says again.

“Probably,” I answer, “Did you want something?”

“What are you doing _here_?”

“I _was_ shopping...” I wave a hand at the aisle, “Now we're apparently debating humanity's _purpose_? I don't know.” 

He makes a scoffing noise.

“Hey—you were the one who called me over,” I point out.

“Right,” he says, “I'm _sorry_. I was just...surprised to see you.”

“Yeah, me too...shouldn't be, I suppose. I mean you _do_ live here,” that's like a 98% chance of being right considering. I rest my arm on the shelf things  are getting droopy. 

“Yeah...” he says. He seems _slightly_ less irritated, but it's not much, “Are you staying in town _long_?” 

“I don't see where that's _your_ business?” 

He gives a slight snort at that, “Do you even  _see_ yourself? You better not have driven here—how high  _are_ you?” 

“Okay,” I put my free hand up, “So, this catch up has been _awesome_. Let's not do it again soon. I have food to get. You might want to see if they have personalities  on the rack—but that's probably a specialty store.” I give him a mock salute and turn, carefully, trying to bear in mind where exactly he still is in relation to me as I go looking for Julia, who...hasn't gotten very far. 

“Thought I'd go slow,” she says, “You seem like you might need the cart to lean on.”

I go to wave my hand and go to say that I'm good, but no...not really, “You...may have a point.”

“Oh, good,” she says, “I thought you were going to be full of bullshit again.”

I lean my folded arms on the cart and follow her down the aisles as we—she loads things in depending on my yes or no.

“So, who _was_ that guy?” she asks, eventually, “ He was too far for me to see his face.” 

I shrug, “I don't know. Probably some jackass whose girlfriend or wannabe girlfriend I slept with when we were in school, certainly seemed pissed enough.”

She's giving me an eye at that.

“So, yes, that's another type of rumor that's true,” I add.

She laughs, “I sorta didn't doubt that one.”

Is that good or bad? “Oh, really?”

She turns away from a moment then, “Did you want to bother with actual lettuce? It'll probably go bad really fast. Unless the _Cape_ has a fridge that isn’t basically a freezer.”

Yeah, let's just...skewer that with pitchforks, “No. You're right, probably safest not to. Can get plenty of canned for now, until I track down a better fridge connection.”

“You mean an _actual_ fridge?” 

“That is an actual fridge—just because it thinks refrigeration means Antarctica...I'm not going to argue with it right now, because that is better than surface of the sun.” and I don't actually know how to fix fridges because they are not that type of electrical or mechanical things...

We're almost at checkout, which is good...I massage my temples and reach in my pocket for the roll of money. I'm sure there's way more than we need, but...I should not have come down here, what  _was_ I thinking? 

Some people coming in through the doors near the registers are murmuring something about a cop car outside, what is that about only being paranoid if they're  _not_ out to get you? 

“Julia,” I say, as we're unloading things onto the conveyor belt, making sure I'm facing away from the cashier and towards her, “So, there might be a cop or two outside, and with my luck they're going to decide they need to “talk to me” about “something”.”

“Okay,” she says.

“So, I'm gonna give you the money, alright? And we can sort that out later.”

“Sure, Boss.”

I take the roll of money out of my pocket. I have no idea how much is in here. I don't remember counting it this morning and numbers aren't making sense or reading right now. The bagger starts loading things in the cart but Julia corrects him, “Into the crate, please. We have to walk,” then she takes the roll of money from me, I thought I gave it to her already, unwraps a couple of bills and sticks the rest into the pocket of her jacket.

The bagger pulls the crate into the top of the cart and starts putting things in there instead.

It's not long before we're wheeling the cart out of the store and sure enough: “Mr. Crocker, a word, please!” from the cop who is leaning, arms folded, against the front bumper of his vehicle. He has a partner who is standing by the side of the car, door open, leaning his arm on the roof of the vehicle. There's something about the tone of the guy's voice that stirs in the back of my mind but I can't place it right now because everything is too fuzzy far away.

“Yes, sir.” I walk over, keeping my hands by my sides, trying not to ball them up, but I know I'm fidgeting I can feel it. Don't say anything stupid.

“I suppose you're wondering why I called you over here.”

“Not really.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

“Well, I am the only Mr. Crocker in town now.” Great. Well done on the not saying anything stupid.

He just chuckles. Though the other cop is gripping the top of the door tightly.

“No, son. We got a report that you might have drugs on you. Do you have drugs on you?” I can feel his eyes boring into me.

“If I did would I say so?”

“I don't suppose you would but that would be mighty stupid. Do you have drugs on you?”

“No, sir. I have no drugs on me.” Because I'm not _that_ stupid but they are in me because I am that stupid. What the hell I was thinking coming to the store _this morning_ and bringing Julia with me?—anything could have happened and I wouldn't have been able to do shit.

“Alright, well, I'm going to need--”

“I know the routine.” I go over to the car and put my hands on the hood and spread my legs and wait for the pat down. I hear the second cop move closer as the first checks me over, finding two knives (one in my boot), a half eaten pack of a gum, random change, a few bills and a couple of receipts that have been run through the washer and dried.

“No wallet or I.D, Mr. Crocker?”

“People seem to know who I am,” I shrug, “and I wasn't driving anywhere.”

“Well, that's a relief,” first cop says. He waves his partner away for a moment, “Turn around, kid.”

I almost say something but actually manage to stop myself. He could well have a kid my age and he seems like he's giving me a break. Do not need to piss him off and have him take me home and search the _Cape_. That would be _bad_. Do not need to piss him off.

“So, let's you and me be straight with each other right now.”

Do not laugh.

“You got a little bit of attitude going on, and I get that, but you also got some choices ahead of you. Answer me this and do me the courtesy of answering honestly like you did just before. Did you take drugs today?”

I just nod.

He shakes his head, “Well, that's a shame, and here you are running around with her too,” he nods his head towards Julia. Which is a thank you I needed that reminder, “I'd have thought you'd want to be better than your Daddy.”

“That's where I know you from!” That was a dumb ass thing to say. I can't help but put my hand to my face at that point. Late nights letting him into the house because the parents were freaking out on each other, or him and other officers busting in because someone else in the complex called on their asses, or sit on the couch and chat to the officer while other ones go through looking for whatever days. He does have a son about my age, I remember him saying that at some point while trying to make distracting chit-chat, maybe you know him, he's got to be at your school. Maybe I do but I bet I don't talk to him because no.

“Yes,” is all he says, “I spent quite some time visiting with your father. Be a better man than him,” he pats me on the shoulder. Fuck me, how many times did I tell _myself_ that, “I hope we don't have to chat again because repeats tend not to be as good.” He tells his partner he's going into the store to get something and then nods, “Miss Carr,” at Julia on his way by.

I walk slowly back over to her. Did I just...did that just happen? Or was that like the color changing car?

“Everything alright, Boss?” Julia asks, as we reconnect.

“Well, not under arrest so that's good.”

“True,” she says, “Was there anything that could have gotten that outcome?”

“Not unless they were douches.” I shrug, and reach for the crate, “Come on. Let's get on.”

She puts her hand on my arm, “Maybe we should just wheel it in the cart,” she says, “You still didn’t eat and if you get dizzy and weird again don't need you dropping the thing.”

I clamp down on the protest that starts to build. Coming down is making me slightly more logical and full of shame on top of the soon to be pounding head, “Okay, fine.”

“Good,” she says, “Because you get to push it.”

“Well, we can add Duke Crocker, grocery cart thief to my lengthy list of crimes.” I point out.

“Maybe we should call the cops back,” she says, as we cross the street, “It is officially stolen now.”

“Let's just get back.”

There's not much talking as we make our way back to the _Cape_ I'm cycling through my own stupidity. Weaning off. Idiot. Going into town _with_ Julia _while_ high. Fucking idiot. She has every right to be pissed at me. We get back to the boat and push the cart up on board and after a few tries get the crate inside to unload.

“See?” Julia says, as we wind up sliding it across the floor into what will be the galley once it's fully finished, “What would you have done if I hadn't come along? There's no way you could have done this by yourself the state you're in!” her voice gets angrier the longer she talks.

She's right, which doesn't make it any easier.

“You can't keep saying you're fine...if you weren't feeling well you could have just given me a list and the money,” which she dumps out of her pocket onto the counter I'm leaning against, “and I could have gone by myself!”

“I was feeling fine when we left...” which isn't untrue. Everything was shiny and bright. Though now I'm starting to feel overly warm, and I imagine I'll be itchy soon enough if previous experience is anything to go by. She's sitting down against the wall on the other side and doesn't say anything for a moment, just hugs her knees.

“If you don't want me around just tell me to go away!” she snaps, and I realize that she's crying, shit, shit, “Don't lead me on and patronize me!”

That slaps me too, “No, that's not...” I want to go over there, but I realize as soon as I let go of the counter top that I'm too unsteady, “I don't want you to leave. Please don't. I just...”

She scrambles to her feet and is across the room before I realize it and hugging me which pushes us back against the counter. I can feel her tears soaking through my shirt. This is...I wrap my arms around her back and hold her there until she stops crying, moving one hand to the back of her head after a while, and resting my chin on the top of head. I don't...

“Why do you look so confused?” she says, after she pulls herself out of the hug and looks around for something to blow her nose with.

“What?”

“You had this super confused look on your face.”

“I...” I'm not sure how to explain it, “...words...?”

“I'm worried about you,” she says, “Is that weird somehow? I mean, seriously...you don't have to macho through whatever the hell is wrong with you.”

Right...because...my only response to that is to bring the heels of my hands up to my eyes.

“Of course you're being an idiot not eating properly, but...seeing you like that was scary.”

“I know, and I'm sorry...I shouldn't have...but I really did feel fine when we left, but...” I sigh, “I should have turned around or something...”

“Yes. You _should_ ,” she says, punching me in the shoulder.

I rub it. Fuck. Everything is starting to hurt. But no. No more. No more til much later. Cutting back. That's the deal. Do not go running for it.

“For right now we need to get this food put away and some of of it actually _in_ to you.”

“Right...food is good.”

“Yes,” she nods, “It is,” she gives a slight laugh, “Why _are_ you so confused?” then she pauses, puts a hand to her mouth, “Oh, my God...I didn't even...you're not used to people being _worried_ about you...”

I can't really say anything in answer to that, but she's not wrong. Dad wasn’t exactly...and Mom spent most of her...time...high. You’re just going for a trifecta aren’t you, Crocker?

Was that the right…?

Then there’s a different thirst kicking in. My mouth and throat are so dry, “Juice?” I ask, hoarse.

She hands me one of the bottles, and then after I drink some starts passing me up packets and cans of food so I can put them in the cabinets. We might not have the shelves properly sorted but they at least have bases and it works to hold the small amount of food that we bought. It also works out well that way because I don't have to turn my head too much. The meats and other cold things are put in the overly enthusiastic refrigerator by which point I realize no work is going to get done today but Julia is more concerned about making sure that food gets in me for the time being. I hadn't really been paying attention to that, clearly. While I've been loading and rearranging the fridge so that it actually stays closed she's made up grilled cheese sandwiches, and is slicing an apple. She moves them to the bench table that also needs to be refinished and sets them down. I go over forcing myself to walk steadily and sit down. Then she brings over two cups of juice.

She watches me, turning half of her sandwich around on her plate. I pick mine up and take a bite and she's clearly relieved.

“It's good. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” she answers, starting to eat her own sandwich.

We eat in silence for a while but then she says:

“You think you'll actually be okay to work today, Boss?”

“Honestly, no,” I have to admit, “I'll give you today's wage and go lie down.”

“Good,” she says, “Otherwise I might have had to hit you.”

I have to laugh at that as I force down some of the apple by drinking some of the juice after it. Julia clears up the plates, washes them and brings the roll of money to me when she returns to the table.

“Are you just going to stare at in confusion again?” she jokes, “because I could really help myself to a pay raise if I was the dishonest type.”

“You're not though, but no things are a lot less blurry now.” I pull off the appropriate amount and hand it over.

“You _are_ going to rest, right?” she confirms as she pockets the money.

“Yes. I promise.” As she leaves I can hear the shopping cart rattling off into the distance.


End file.
